Guy #207 – The horrible aftermath of that time I cried at an orgy…

Guy #207 was by far one of the saddest individuals I ever had sex with.

He was the kind of Guy that would go from orgy to orgy, desperate to find a place where he belonged. When at orgies, I always saw him take too much GHB and pass out at some point, easily spending hours on end lying on the floor with other Guys occasionally checking to see if he was still breathing.

When attending larger gatherings like techno parties I would often see him at the first aid stand being tended to by medical staff, assumedly because he had taken too much drugs again.

His relationships with the people he met at orgies were, as far as I could tell, shallow at best, even by orgy standards. He found his way into orgies by hitching invites from notably cooler people, only to be dismissed by the very people that brought him along.

When at orgies, he would be clingy, killing the sexual tension by imposing his desperation and loneliness onto those he hung out with. Enjoying sex in the presence of Guy #207 was as challenging as playing a game of Mikado during an earthquake or unwrapping a condom when there’s already lube on your fingers.

But what annoyed me most of all about Guy #207 was that he reminded me of me a lot.

About half a year before running into Guy #207 I attended my first orgy. It was an overwhelming experience: to be included in a group of people based on my looks… It was like being one of the cool kids. Having gone through life without ever being one of those, I latched onto orgy culture like a newborn duckling sticking to whatever creature it sees first.

I became addicted. Not to sex or drugs or chemsex, but to the idea of being one of the cool kids.

Half a year later I found myself crying at an orgy after being mercilessly rejected from a threesome with Guys #168 and #206.

Before discovering orgy culture, I had been fairly confident in my sexual exploits. Sure I was clumsy, awkward and inept at building any sort of relationship with anyone, but I had rarely experienced any form of dependency on something or someone.

Then came the day I fell hopelessly in love with this Guy at this orgy, and half a year later I met Guy #207: a reflection of what orgy culture had made me become.

For a long time I went to orgies for the wrong reason: to be included.

I met Guy #207 in a house with about 30 or so other Guys. I would’ve hooked up with any of them, were it not for the fact I had literally cried myself to sleep a few hours earlier.

If you never experienced the rejection of someone you love at an orgy, let me state that in terms of shame it ranks among my most embarrassing experiences, on par with that time my mother found out I’d been watching gay porn.

So when Guy #207 approached me, I instantly saw the sad hump of hopelessness he was…and I intuitively felt he was me.

I was too overcome with shame to set any boundaries for myself. It might very well be what attracted Guy #207 to me in the first place. So when Guy #207 offered himself to me, I didn’t know what to do but to go along with it.

The great thing about orgies is that you can enjoy your sexuality freely in the company of others. In fact, this often adds to the flavor.

Unless of course you’re engulfed in shame and you don’t want to be seen.

Me having sex with Guy #207 felt weird and misplaced. He seemed relieved to have found someone to belong with, I was mostly just resenting myself, hoping no one was witness to me having sex with him, which at an orgy is akin to wanting to be the only one stuck in a traffic jam.

After the sex was over, I more or less let Guy #207 be. I saw him lying passed out on the floor a while later. One could argue it was in that moment I decided not to become like him.

These days I’d like to think I go to orgies for the right reason: simply to have fun.

It took me a few orgies and a hopeless crush to realize and accept the fact that orgy culture is the place to have fun and unwind, not the place to get the therapy you think you don’t need.

Go to orgies for fun and they’re actually quite therapeutic. Go to orgies to alleviate your issues, and those issues will be as naked as you are.

I got my ego served to me the day I met Guy #207 and it was a lot to swallow.

A few months ago I found myself at this party somewhere when someone poked me to say Hi. The Guy in question appeared very manly, friendly and confident, so much that I found him attractive without him being my type. I needed a few seconds before I recognized him as Guy #207.

In the few years that passed Guy #207 went from being a saggy drug addict incapable of maintaining consciousness for more than a few hours at a time to a good looking, sexy and capable person.

I still regret having sex with him, but still…well done.

I hope he’s a reflection of me now as he was back then.


Guy #149 – The most forgettable of them all…

Do you really remember all the people you ever had sex with?

It’s a question I get asked a lot. While I try to be 100% sure this blog tells the story of every Guy I ever had sex with, I may have forgotten one or two of my dates over the years.

When I started 168guys.com I drew up a list of all the dates I could remember. That exercise joggled my memory and for a few months my daily routine would be routinely interrupted by the sudden memory flash of a Guy I had sex with once, which I would follow up on by assigning that Guy a number in the overall chronology of my sex life. The end result became an Excel sheet that powers this blog. Although one of my more recent dates, the memory of Guy #149 was one of the last to pop up in my head, one of the last to be added to said sheet.

That means I came very close to forgetting Guy #149 altogether.

Which means it’s not exactly easy writing the story of us two. I barely remember him as a person. I suppose the most memorable thing about Guy #149 was how forgettable he was. Of all my dates so far, he came closest to not becoming a memory.

I don’t mean to be derogative by the way. I’m sure there are Guys I dated who don’t remember me. When you live a life where sex is a commodity, forgetting about a person whose anus you inserted becomes as easy as forgetting what you had for dinner a week ago. This may be hard to grasp for people who never paid much attention to other people’s anuses, but those that do it on a daily basis will agree with me: The more sex you have, the more spectacular it has to be for it to become a memory.

So was there anything wrong with Guy #149?

Not at all. He was a very nice and reasonably cute Asian twink who lived in a crappy apartment with a very small bed. Him being from China or Vietnam or Thailand, we no doubt worked our way up to foreplay by talking about the strains and stresses of settling in an unknown country, the upside of living in a place where being gay is not an issue, the downside of missing a family that wouldn’t be entirely on board with the whole gay thing and then at some point the conversation must have dissolved into kissing somehow, probably because I initiated it. Mind you, aside from his tiny bed I don’t actually remember any of this happening, but I can only assume things went down this way.

The kissing flowed into sex on a bed clearly not designed to withstand any, but I can’t remember it bothering me much. Guy #149 was friendly, attractive and he had an anus. It was exactly what I had bargained for, nothing less, but nothing more either.

If you’re a Guy from Birma or Japan or South Korea who had sex with me not too long ago, someone with a small bed and a crappy apartment, please don’t take offense. The fact you’re forgettable says nothing about you and everything about the way I treat people.

Guy #149, if you’re reading this: Thank you for a lovely evening. If you ever ordered a pizza, you know that feeling you get after a hard day’s work, when you turn on the TV and let a slice go down on you as you numb off to reruns of Friends or How I met your mother or Family Guy. Life is good when you got pizza, but we don’t remember every pizza we’ve ever eaten. Guy #149, the fact you even made it to this blog is a testament to your cuteness.

Although truth be told I might have forgotten about you were it not for that tiny ass bed.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: One night stand
SEX SCORE (0 = Microsoft Excel <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7,5

Guy #148 – Three out of three…

If planet Earth houses 7 billion people, it’s safe to say a few hundred million of those people are Guys who enjoy mating with other Guys.

On the other hand, of all the hundreds of millions of gay Guys this planet has to offer, frustratingly few of them set up camp on remote tropical paradises.

Life in the Caribbean was nice, but after spending a total of seven years under the sun I was drawn back to a gayer place: Home. I had spent some time in the Netherlands over the years, dating Guys here and there, but I had never settled there as a gay person. The last time I truly lived in my home country had been nearly ten years prior, around the time I ‘clumsied’ around with Guys #1 through #4.

So I moved back home and went online, only to discover something: Local gay scenes are often small, libido driven hamlets where everybody knows your name if not your selfie. Though known for its lustrous gay life, most people I met in Amsterdam were already a friend of a Facebook friend.

Guy #148 was no exception.

The first time I learned of Guy #148’s existence was when Guy #108 befriended me. Going over Guy #108’s wall I saw many pictures of him with two other guys. One of those Guys would later become Guy #130 and the other one was Guy #148.

So when Guy #148 and I got in touch online I already knew two of his best friends. That feeling people supposedly have when they get to yell Bingo, that’s the feeling I was chasing when I suggested the two of us meet up for a drink.

While I showed interest in Guy #148 during our date, I don’t remember a single thing we talked about. I do remember him showing some reluctance in getting physical. That worried me a little. If you’ve done two out three stooges it just seems silly to not get horizontal with the third.

So I got tactical.

I entertained my date by means of doing interesting conversation stuff, asking questions, making him feel at home, validated…until the time had come no more trains were leaving Amsterdam.
‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘we’ve been talking for so long, I lost track of time. I don’t mean to intrude, but I kind of need a place to sleep.’

And so Guy #148 offered me to spend the night in his bed, where we exchanged mildly satisfying sexual favors for about fifteen minutes before going to sleep.

Bingo. Three out of three.

Things weren’t exactly romantic when we woke up next morning. I saw little reason to continue treating Guy #148 as if I found him interesting, and on some level he must have felt he was no more than a score card.

We parted ways way before breakfast and never spoke to each other again. We didn’t even become Facebook friends.

It’s not that I didn’t find Guy #148 interesting. I remember he was. I know for a fact I really enjoyed our conversation. I just hadn’t flown back home to have a conversation. I had flown back to consume the gay scene I had left behind nearly ten years earlier. Guy #148 was simply the first familiar face on a long list of semi-familiar faces, friends of familiar faces and the occasional actual new face.

While I never considered my years in the Caribbean a waste of time, I was now ready to finally enjoy gay life to the full, which, considering I already had sex with 147 Guys, seems like a bit of a spoiled attitude, which it was, which is probably why Guy #148 didn’t bother to make me breakfast.

Come to think of it, ever since I moved back to the Netherlands I probably consumed more Guys than breakfasts.

At the time of Guy #148 I didn’t know it, but I still had so much to learn.

Lucky for me there are a few hundred million Gay guys on the planet.


Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: One night stand, but mostly just a sleepover
SEX SCORE (0 = The concept of Facebook friends <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guy #90 – The logistics of getting a naked stranger in my bed…

Scoring a sex date is often said to be easy.

The truth is that getting a naked stranger in your bed is a logistical nightmare.
As with life evolving on a planet, so many factors need to line up perfectly for random sex to even have a remote chance of happening.

For starters, you have to be into each other. This might be the case for every 25th person I meet online. That’s 96% of potential hook-ups that will never happen.

Second, you have to be horny.
It sounds like a no-brainer, but whenever a cute Guy hits me up, part of the chase is done. On Grindr Hi means I want to do you. Often being wanted is enough to satisfy my ego.

Because for a sex date to happen at least one person must have access to privacy, while the other must have means to travel. Guys who live with their parents, Guys who don’t have a car, Guys who don’t have money, Guys who have to get up early the next day, Guys who have roommates, Guys who have boyfriends…The road to casual sex is paved with obstacles. For a sex date to materialize you have to ask yourself: Do I want to go down that road only to spend a good fifteen minutes with someone who’s probably fatter than his photoshopped selfie?

Guy #90 was about as traditional as a sex date can be.

Our date started on neutral ground, at a bar. As expected, his selfie had been a bit of a lie, but having already invested time in this Guy I decided to stay the course and get him naked in my bed somehow.

While I appreciate casual hook-ups that start with a conversation, Guy #90 and I didn’t have that much to talk about. He was nice. I was nice. He had hobbies. I had hobbies. He liked pets. I liked meat.
We managed to chat our way through two non alcoholic drinks, but the more we talked the less we had in common.

Which is why I steered the conversation in the direction of my bedroom.

The only thing standing in between us and my bedroom was a 15 minute drive to my place. I figured the two of us could squeeze out another 15 minutes of small talk. Besides, it’s perfectly acceptable to start foreplay in a car when you’re on a date with a stranger. If we were to run out of things to say I could always put my hands on Guy #90’s leg and let our hormones carry us over the social awkwardness.

The social awkwardness actually began when my car wouldn’t start.

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Instead of initiating foreplay on our way home we sat on the pavement, waiting for my mechanic to show up. I don’t remember what we talked about. I do know it was exhausting coming up with things to talk about.

Still, when you’re halfway down the road to Mordor it’s silly to turn around and head back.

When my mechanic arrived it felt strange to introduce him to Guy #90. It felt even stranger when my car couldn’t be fixed on the spot, meaning Guy #90 and I had to fetch a ride from my mechanic, a man who was smart enough to figure out the format of my relationship with Guy #90.

Once we were alone at my place we finally had the very sex that had been on the menu for hours. We just had to consume each other. All the frustration from the waiting and the exchange of increasingly irrelevant pleasantries needed an outlet.
The sex was hasty though. I mostly remember being relieved I had succeeded in getting another somewhat cutish naked stranger in my bed. The sex celebrated the completion of an obstacle course, not so much the bond we had, or the attraction we felt.

Afterward I managed a friend of mine to give Guy #90 and me a ride back to his hotel. It had never been my intention for Guy #90 to intertwine with my social life, but logistically speaking I had no other options.

When the date was finally over I was relieved, but I hadn’t experienced any relief. I imagine Guy #90 felt the same.

I guess my mechanic got the most out of our time together.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 4 hours
FORMAT: Attempted sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = The word “Intercourse” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 7

Guys #40, #41, #42, #43, #44 and #45 – To the moon and back…

 

 


 

 

Explorers are never in it for the destination.

Think about it. Neil Armstrong didn’t fly to the moon because it’s such a great place. Destinationwise, the moon is the last place anyone wants to end up.

It’s the same with parts of my sex life. For a while I was in it for the journey and not so much the destination.

So when my good friend and porn producer asked if I wanted to perform in a gay sauna, I accepted. It sounded like something my ego could enjoy.

The sauna’s owner had even made flyers for the occasion. Me and my whorish attitude were now being advertized in Toronto’s gay district. It was weird seeing my naked self on a flyer.

Of all my stories, I’m probably least proud of this one.

Lying naked in front of dozens of strange men who are also naked felt like being Neil Armstrong on the moon, without a space suit. Not the best destination.

As I was pretending to be aroused, I was wondering if a job in the sex industry would make me feel like I was floating in space naked. The emptiness of it all…

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On the other hand, some of the guys that came by were not all that unattractive. In fact, the cute ones were allowed to do a little more than just watching. They would go down in history as Guys #40, #41, #42, #43, #44 and #45. Well, if I’m being honest Guy #40 was kind of cute. I allowed him to become a part of my performance. The other five Guys followed suit. They’re the reason I’m not so proud of this.

It’s difficult to strike a balance between inducing arousal and keeping people at a desired distance. I definitely succeeded in making Guys #41 through #45 aroused enough to cross the distance I wanted to keep them at.
A spacesuit would have made me feel better.

Still, while the moon is a desolate and lifeless rock it’s worth checking out. I was glad I did.

And after I was done performing me and Guy #40 did have a nice conversation in a whirlpool. I had landed back on Earth, where naked wasn’t so bad anymore.

When the owner gave me my check he complimented me on my performance. I had made people smile, or so I was told.

I got offered other gigs. At one time I was asked to participate in a live sex show on stage. I decided not to. I had been okay with being a product doing porn. Being a product for people to touch wasn’t my thing.

I’m okay with having the one memory of performing my sexuality in front of a live audience. It was another experience I was glad for having. I was also glad for not having to do it twice.

It’s not like Neil Armstrong ever went back to the moon.

 


 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One performance
FORMAT: Pretending arousal in exchange for money
SEX SCORE (0 = Sex that makes you want to wear a spacesuit <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 0.5

Guy #39 – The lie that was his selfie…

 

 


 

 

Selfies can be deceptive.

I’ve come across internet profiles from men that go by one and the same picture for years at an end. It’s because they only have that one picture in which they look good. I don’t trust profiles with only one picture.

Guy #39 taught me.

Guy #39 looked good in his selfie. I thought it would be greedy of me to ask for more pictures of him looking horny, but I now know my greed had motivated me to go on this date in the first place. I should have listened to my greed as one does on sex dates.

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On the other hand I ended up liking the fact Guy #39 had deceived me into getting to know him.

We clicked. I found myself very comfortable with him. We laughed a lot.

We both knew his selfie was ten years old and heavily photoshopped. But it was okay. Lying is often part of a sex date.
In the end Guy #39 even told me he wished he was hot like he used to be. I guess that was his way of saying sorry for the lie that was his selfie.

Selfies are good for making us feel like we look good. I think I made Guy #39 feel he looked like his selfie again.

I was approaching 30 when I first started photoshopping myself. I was amazed by what the contrast button could do to my abs.

Though I’m hardly ever on dating sites these days I do update them every so often with my latest pictures of me looking bored into a mirror, holding up a phone, wearing a towel. It’s my way of letting people know I’m not a person with only one good picture.

Over the years my selfies have become increasingly beautiful. And increasingly deceptive. And as I grow older, I will stop uploading selfies every so often. If I stay single I might end up being a guy with only one selfie.

I wonder what my life would have been like had I come out sooner. I enjoyed the gay scene very much, but at times I wish hadn’t spent the first 24 years of my life being so afraid of it.

Then I might have met Guy #39 around the time his selfie was taken.

 


 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = That one mosquito circling around your head when you’re trying to sleep <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.3

Guy #36 – Pain relief…

 

 


 

 

Guys #20 through #48 all guest starred in my life in the summer of 2009, when I spent three months in Toronto. Whatever I had going with Guys #20 to #48, each and every ‘relationship’ had an expiry date.

A very big part of me resented the fact I was to leave the city soon. It’s not so much the abundance of sex I would miss. It’s that I met some people that could have been good friends or maybe even more than that.

Guy #36 felt like a very good friend for one night.

Sex dates are actually a great way to meet people. Sure, sometimes they have the formality of a job interview, but for every person that leaves you feeling empty inside there’s another one that makes you feel alive, valuable and even loved.

Guy #36 came to my place and had sex with me. It was awesome. Our sexualities were a near perfect match.

The sex didn’t last very long. Things went from awesome to modestly spectacular after the sex, when Guy #36 and I started talking.

We ended up really connecting with each other.

Guy #36 told me he had been in a car accident this one time. He said he didn’t know what pain was until that moment. His body was still recovering from it. Pain was a near constant for him.

It’s probably why the sex had been so good. It was his pain relief. I always thought of physiotherapists as masseurs with less sex appeal, but Guy #36 told me physiotherapy can be a living hell. Sex must have been like morphine to him.

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When I told Guy #36 I would be flying back to my home country soon he seemed genuinely disappointed, but neither one of us saw any use forcing a clumsy transatlantic friendship just because we digged each other. We were fine with this being a one-time pain relief.

Sometimes it can be strangely wonderful to cuddle up with a complete stranger you met on the internet. Someone who’s been through a lot of pain.

I don’t miss Guy #36. I do miss Toronto because of guys like him.
And I really hope his pain is gone.

 


 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 hours
FORMAT: Intimate sex date with pain relief
SEX SCORE (0 = Lying to your parents <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9.2

Guy #32 and #33 – Stroke that ego…

 

 


 

 

There’s one very simple moral to every story here on 168guys.com: Love and sex are inseparable. If you’re looking for sex you’re looking for love.

While quite a few gay people told me they enjoy reading this blog, some have trouble accepting its message.

When I look around it’s as if people want to live in a world where love and sex can live apart.

Which is why gay saunas exist. They help maintain the illusion that sex can be a commodity.

Granted, we don’t have sex with total strangers because we want to love total strangers. We have sex with total strangers because we want to love ourselves, if only for a short while.

Gay guys visit gay saunas because we are lured by our egos.

I’m not judging by the way.

There’s nothing wrong with having someone stroke your ego every so often. It’s what it’s there for.

We say it’s just sex, so we may pretend hurt is off the menu.

But when you go to a place where people wear towels instead of clothes you expose your needy ego to the elements it craves the most. That can be a risky game.

I met Guy #32 in a whirlpool. As is so often the case in whirlpools, words were never part of our relationship. We looked at each other, got within lip range and started kissing.

Guy #32 was very cute in my opinion. My ego started salivating like a Pavlovian dog when he touched me at places my ego likes to be touched the most.

Guy #32 was also just the beginning, because a minute or so into our relationship, Guy #33 came out of nowhere and slid himself and his gorgeous body into the whirlpool. He sat down right next to me.

I found myself right smack in the middle of two beautiful naked guys that either kissed me, touched me or both. Sure it was just about sex, but I couldn’t help but feel like being one of the cool kids. I had never felt like a cool kid before.

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I was finally at a place where my own sexuality had matured to the point reality was on par with my fantasies. My ego opened up and settled in for the trip to heaven.

That’s when Guy #32 and #33 got up and walked away, leaving me alone in my whirlpool.

They didn’t say anything. They just left. Together.

At first I figured I had fallen victim to a simple communication error, something easily remedied. So I got up and followed Guy #32 and #33. I found them making out in a steam room. As soon as they noticed my presence they got up and walked away.

It wasn’t a communication hiccup. It was a cold hearted rejection. Guy #32 and #33 wanted something that didn’t involve me. That was unfortunate, as I had just exposed my bare ego on the assumption I was one of the cool kids.

Maybe I was too sensitive to be satisfying my sexuality through sex instead of love. Maybe I should never have gone to gay saunas. Being shunned from a threesome hurts. I can’t pretend it didn’t. It may very well have been the first moment I ever realized there is no such thing as just sex.

At the time I didn’t quite understand why I felt hurt. My previous sexual encounters had already made me feel attractive and cute. I knew I had no reason for feeling insecure, but no rationalization could keep me from feeling the way I did: Like an unattractive and undoable outsider.

It felt like being a virgin again. It reminded me of that time I was convinced no one would ever see the beauty in me.

Gay saunas is where the umbilical cord between love and sex is stretched to its limit. But no matter how thin the cord is stretched, it never breaks.

It took me a good half hour to get over Guy #32 and #33. I allowed both to become a part of my past when I ran into Guy #34 later that night, but that’s another story.

 

 


 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 1-2 minutes
FORMAT: Foreplay followed up by exclusion
SEX SCORE BEFORE REJECTION (0 = What Hitler felt like when he was rejected from art school <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9
SEX SCORE AFTER REJECTION: N/A (sadly)

Guy #28 – Parking lot purgatory…

 

 


 

 

Nothing is quite as depressing as sex in a car on a parking lot in broad daylight.

First of all, most cars are not designed to have sex in. They’re an ergonomic disaster when it comes to intertwining your body with that of someone else. Second, I was constantly on the lookout for people who might see me, along with Guy #28’s head appearing in and out of view over my dashboard.

My date with Guy #28 was a complete disaster.

They say size doesn’t matter. Well, this guy’s penis was pretty much the complete absence of matter. It was tiny. When he unzipped his pants I was greeted by something best described as a socially phobic shrimp.

I found myself on a date with an Asian stereotype:

Guy #28 was completely submissive. That much became clear the moment I stepped into his car on what would be our first and only encounter.
“Hi, how are you doing? You look super! I’m so glad you could make it,” he said as if I was a long lost friend.
My first thought of him was that he didn’t look at all like the guy from the picture, although from a certain angle I could see how he had gone about Photoshopping himself.
He was good with computers.

When we drove off I assumed we were going to his place. After a while he told me he still lives with his parents. He wasn’t driving to his place. He was just driving. He asked if I knew of a place to go. I didn’t.

Our love nest would become a parking lot. In broad daylight.

I wasn’t proud of myself for having sex on a parking lot in broad daylight. It’s not that we got caught or that I never did it again, but the size of Guy #28’s penis made me realize how my ruthless pursuit of sex had sunk my standards. It was ridiculous of me to agree to sex on a parking lot with someone I wasn’t comfortable sharing a space with.

To make things worse Guy #28 was unbelievably passionate. He acted as if we were lovers, while in reality we were just two guys with nothing in common except their time on Craigslist. I couldn’t stand Guy #28’s drama.

I came quickly. I had trouble thinking happy thoughts when I did, but I figured it would be the quickest way to end this ordeal.

At first I was relieved the sex was over. Then Guy #28 asked if I wanted to go have coffee with him. It should be noted it’s not customary to go for coffee after anonymous hook-ups on a parking lot.
I really wanted my date to drop me off at my subway station, but he was already parking his car in front of Starbucks when he dropped the question.

Being with Guy #28 must be what purgatory is like.

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All I wanted was to be released from my date, who kept on saying how super happy he was to have met me and how he really wanted to be my friend.
The parking lot sex had evaporated his initial shyness. Now he was constantly telling me how super I was.

Then came the moment Guy #28 ran into two of his girlfriends. I’m not entirely sure their sudden appearance was a coincidence: Guy #28 stopped sending messages on his phone the moment his hags entered the scene. Guy #28 couldn’t believe his luck he was surrounded by so much people to not feel lonely with.

I was loathing myself however. I had to make small talk with the friends of someone who had just given me a blowjob in his car.

I felt like hitting Guy #28 when he ordered himself a second latte. I wanted to go back home, away from my date’s desperate attempts at having company.

I socially obligated my way through Guy #28’s friends for a good half hour. His clinginess became increasingly annoying. At times I got the impression he was pretending to be my boyfriend.

When we finally ended up back in his car we went to another parking lot, this one belonging to my subway haven. I nodded Guy #28 goodbye the moment we got there. He asked if I was going to call him. I told him I would think about that. He said it was making him so sad I had to go. I told him he would get over it.

As I grabbed the door handle Guy #28 put his arms around me and started to cry.
“Please don’t go. I like you so much,” he cried. I told him he had just given me a blowjob on a parking lot and that it was to be the extent of our relationship.

He cried over my impending absence the way North Koreans cry over the death of a Supreme Leader. It was unbearably awkward. In the end I had to pull myself out of Guy #28’s arms. I left him crying in his car.

I’m not saying sex dates are a bad thing, but I do find it interesting you often encounter a lot of loneliness on a sex date.

For what it’s worth Guy #28 has my sympathy. But when your penis is that small and you are incredibly needy, dependent and insecure, it might not be wise to find love in random strangers on a parking lot. In a way I may have taught him that by slamming the door in his crying face.

For his sake I’d like the world to be a place where penis size is irrelevant, but that’s not the case. Stats are an important part of our culture. As is Photoshop. Or parking lots for that matter.

Or post-orgasmic self loathing.

But maybe that’s just me.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 2 hours
FORMAT: 10 minute drive, 5 minute blowjob, 90 minute latte, 15 minute farewell
SEX SCORE (0 = Room 101 <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 0.5

Guy #27 – Recreationship…

 

 


 

 

Sex is a bit like drugs.

If you know how to use drugs wisely, a lot of them can be fun.

Sex is the one drug we should embrace as a society. It is pretty well established that the more people smoke weed, the less people get upset about it. It’s the same with sex.

So while we shouldn’t get high 24/7, on the special occasion you do the best idea is to simply enjoy it as much as you can.

This was my mindset the night I met Guy #27.

His opening line was Do you know that you are very beautiful? It was in that moment I decided I was going to enjoy him as much as I could.

We talked a little over very loud music. I’m not a fan of extremely loud club music, but I do like how it forces you to be in each other’s space when you’re talking. It makes the whole seduction ritual flow ever so smoothly. The noise causes proximity. The proximity causes touching. The touching causes even more touching. All the touching causes kissing and not long after that Guy #27 and I were gorging on each other like a pair of toothless zombies.

We didn’t just kiss. We ate each other.

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I was in a big city in a shady night club celebrating my own sexuality. I was fully aware of the fact there were people mere feet away from us, staring at us in silent disbelief over how Guy #27 and I were going at each other.

When you have sex it’s nice not to care about what the rest of the world thinks of it.

Naturally I ended up at Guy #27’s place, a beautiful Downtown apartment overlooking the city skyline. I was living a dream.

The great thing about careless sex is that it allows you to open up to someone. Guy #27 and I got to know each other quite well over the few months we dated. In some ways we had a little bit of a relationship-thing going on. We went out for dinner together. We ate breakfast together. We would talk together. We would be together.

A big city becomes so much more of an experience when you have someone to share it with.

Sexwise, the gorging stopped after our first date. The sex between us became increasingly satisfying, but neither one of us was being greedy about it anymore.

I guess you could say Guy #27 and I were both very good recreational drug users. You might argue the two of us were having a recreationship. I enjoyed being with Guy #27 the way I enjoyed a good massage or a nice dinner. Or drugs.

Guy #27 had made his home in the city we enjoyed together. To me this city was merely a stopover. Our recreationship was never meant to last.
The two of us recently got back in touch though. It’s a nice feeling when someone welcomes you back into their life after having been absent from it for years.
Guy #27 told me he has fond memories of the time we shared together. He also said he had enjoyed the sex, but that he has since gotten better at it.

I told him the same goes for me.

 


 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 2 months
FORMAT: Recreationship
SEX SCORE (0 = Club music at a funeral <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.8

 

Guy #26 – Commitment is not a choice…

 

 


 

 

Gays and monogamy.

Sometimes it seems the two go together like alcohol and a hangover.

Commitment can be a wonderful thing, but it requires a lot of self esteem for it to be wonderful. I don’t think Guy #26 had a lot of that to go around.

I never met the other half of Guy #26, but he painted a picture of a possessive and belittling jerk who physically abused him sometimes.
‘Why do you stay with him?’ I asked. Guy #26 was unable to give me a clear answer.

I guess relationships can be like addictions. They can make you high at first, after which you forever ache to feel as high as you did that very first time.

Any addict will tell you the first high is always the best, though.

Guy #26 seemed very depressed because of his relationship. He knew he loved his boyfriend, but the reasons for this love had dissipated over the years. There probably never had been any real reasons to begin with, just a short spree of intense joy that disappeared the moment Guy #26 committed himself to feeling that high again.

In search of a surrogate he had uploaded a few selfies on Craigslist, where his path crossed with mine.

Apart from discovering my fist fitted into Guy #26’s anus this one time, the sex between us can best be described as lovingly pornographic, or maybe the word is simply passionate. Guy #26 wanted someone who could make him feel loved again. I was willing to give him that feeling on account of his lovable looks and equally attractive sweetness.

As time progressed we would spend less and less time in his house having sex, instead doing stuff such as walking through a park together, sitting on a bench and talking about life, love and what it’s like to be together and lonely at the same time.

Guy #26 had been very happy with his abusive boyfriend in the past. His relationship was now stuck in purgatory, his only solace being the fists of strangers.

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In countries where people are free to read this blog gay people live in a world where sex has become a product as accessible as a Big Mac.

Sex is not nearly as unhealthy as fast food and the experience will always be a little different. A lot of (gay) people fear commitment because they don’t want to miss out on experience.

The thing is, commitment is the experience. Much like being gay, commitment is not a choice. It flows naturally if you let it.

If you let it.

That’s the scary part. Commitment is not about holding on to something or someone. It’s about letting go and surrendering yourself to this thing called love.

Guy #26 was holding on, while he should have been letting go.

Letting go isn’t easy for anal people, though.

And something tells me Guy #26 was just that. Pretty darn anal.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: ± 2 months
FORMAT: 5 secret sex dates that evolved into friendship, followed by passive Facebook friendship
SEX SCORE: (0 = Stuffing a turkey <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 9

Guy #25 – The man with the beard, the jaded lighting guy and the harbinger of glucose…

 

 


 

 

They say prostitution is the world’s oldest profession, but porn must have followed suit soon afterward.

Porn lets us step into a world where our fantasies can become reality. That can make it a wonderful product. Granted, these are usually not the kind of fairytales you talk about during Thanksgiving dinner with family.

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My mother and I once had a conversation about porn.
‘I sometimes wondered what it would be like,’ she said, ‘but I could never imagine actually doing anything like that.’
‘What would you say if I had done porn?’ I asked.
‘I don’t think I’d want to know. Mothers don’t need to know everything.’
I left it at that.

Yet the vast majority of people I know are fully aware of the fact I did gay porn once. Well, six times, but all within a very short time span. I never received anything but compliments, mostly from those who hadn’t even seen the actual product. Most people would admit to me that they too had once fantasized about being in a porn movie.

To all the people still in the closet out there, now that you have read all this: I know what it’s like coming out of a closet. It’s like suddenly the whole world knows about your dirty little secrets.

And that’s okay:

In one of those dirty little secrets I found myself in a 24th floor hotel room in Toronto’s gay district, quite naked, having actual sex with a guy, surrounded by a bearded guy with a camera, a guy moving lights around and another guy who I mostly remember as being the one who supplied us with brownies in between takes. Occasionally, I heard the sound of a family with children passing down the hallway.

Earlier me, Guy #25 and the crew had passed the lobby with filming equipment in plain sight. I remember looking at the receptionist, realizing he knew exactly what I was about to do. This wasn’t the first time he had seen that bearded guy, the athletic guy carrying all the lighting equipment and a guy with brownies pass by, accompanied by two young men.

But in porn, making it past the lobby is only the easy part.

Doing porn is hard work. It was definitely a fun experience, but not much of a sexual one. Guy #25 wasn’t my lover. He was my colleague. There was never a moment I forgot I was part of a product.

Humanity consumes a lot of porn. I have a lot of respect for people who make porn for a living. I for one couldn’t imagine ever paying for porn these days. It’s like paying someone to press enter on your laptop.

If there’s one thing I regret, it’s that I didn’t make a better porn movie. The people I worked with were extremely professional, funny and comfortable to be around with. It just wasn’t the kind of movie I would ever watch myself. And till this day I haven’t, by the way.

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Maybe it’s my feminine side, but when I watch porn I am also in it for the story. Of course I know what will happen when two or more guys enter a ski cabin together, but still, the opening shots of them playing outside in the snow, having fun and joyfully throwing snow balls at each other makes for a nice back story. I wouldn’t mind being part of a group of gorgeous guys for a weekend in and around a remote ski cabin.

My back story was two guys enter a hotel room and have sex during a job interview, with the sound of a family with children in the background.

Had I felt as beautiful then as I do now, I would definitely have pursued my attempts at doing gay porn. But I would have aimed a little higher. I would have tried to make something I knew I’d enjoy watching myself.

That’s not to discredit the man with the beard, the lighting guy, the harbinger of glucose and least of all Guy #25, all of whom had passed the lobby boy dozens of time before me. People that have seen my movie generally consider Guy#25 hot. He wasn’t exactly my kind of hot, but he was very pleasantly professional. At one point in between takes he talked about how he had read on the internet that CERN in Switzerland was going to collide some particles that would create a black hole and suck up the Earth, sometime in 2015.
I like talking about quantum physics during sex.

The people I worked with all put a lot of effort into their work. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a room full of work related people where everybody was so professional. There’s not much ego going around when there’s so much nakedness going on. These people create a product most of us want to see for free in ever increasing quantities. I met the lighting guy in one of Toronto’s shadier gay clubs one night. He complained about how nothing in the city excited him anymore. He said it, while in the background there were two guys on a stage engaging in not so tender foreplay.

To be honest, those two guys on that stage didn’t do anything for me either. It can be fun making the product, but you run the risk of overconsuming. In cities with gay districts, a lot of people overconsume on sex.

Guy #25 had made dozens of movies before me, as did everybody else in the room. He had a very good body, but I could tell he had consumed a lot of glucose for his age.

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I was glad I could put porn on my list of experiences, but I couldn’t imagine ever making a career out of it. It’s a lot of work for very little reward: Five hours of having sex under scorching lights when all you can think about is when you’re going to get your next brownie. It’s exhausting.

When someone writes you a check after you had sex with someone, you can’t help but feel a little bit like a prostitute. You just had sex for money after all. At the same time I also realized there would be a lot of people that would appreciate my product. Is it wrong to sell your sexuality if it empowers you somehow?

Or was I overconsuming?

 


 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5 hours
FORMAT: Collegial
SEX SCORE (0 = 99 bottles of beer on the wall <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 5,5
HONORABLE MENTIONS: The man with the beard, the jaded lighting guy and the harbinger of glucose.

Guy #24 – What’s love got to do with it?

 

 


 

 

Over the years I’ve come to the conclusion there’s no such thing as just sex. I met some gay people who seem slightly offended when I suggest their latest dark room encounter has a lot of value for them somehow.

For some reason people have trouble embracing the fact that people you have sex with are meaningful.

Sure, I’ve had sex that felt meaningless and empty, but that didn’t make it less of an experience.
Of all the guys I’ve ever been with, Guy #24 is the one that came closest to being just sex.

He was my second audition.

I believe people who work in the porn industry are shamelessly underappreciated for their efforts. It requires a lot of concentration to play your part on Guy #24 when Guy #23 is lying in between your legs with his camera pointed upward.

Guy #24 was my dress rehearsal.

It did not go well.

I could go into detail about how things went down, but the jist of it is that I was strongly advised to take some Viagra on the actual set, which I would later found out was just another word for ‘hotel room’.

While I never regretted the experience, it did strike me how bad I was at sex when it was just about sex. It was weird to be intimate and professional at the same time.

At the time I wanted to believe just sex was a thing. I intensely enjoyed the lack of commitment I was feeling. I was quite literally like a bee hopping from flower to flower, in a city full of flowers.

About a week after my encounter with Guy #24 I spoke to the producer, Guy #23, on the phone. Guy #24 happened to be in the room with him and gave him on the phone, suggesting we had established some kind of bond or something. Our conversation was as short as it was awkward. It turned out that we had in fact made some kind of connection, but I wasn’t ready to accept the commitment attached to it.

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I think a lot of gay guys have this problem. It’s why they like to believe there is such a thing as just sex.

There isn’t. Not even when you’re doing porn.

 


 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One audition
FORMAT: Test drive
SEX SCORE: (0 = Ann Coulter <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 4,5

Guy #23 – Chubby, bearded and oh so sweet…

 

 


 

 

Your sex life is a bit like a box of chocolates. You never know which one you’re gonna get. But you do know you want more, because chocolate just so happens to be addictive like nicotine.

Or maybe that’s just me.

Personally, I like experience in the broadest sense of the word. So whenever I have one piece of chocolate, I crave for more.

I spent the summer of 2009 in Toronto, Canada, the biggest box of chocolates I had ever seen. I wanted to use my time there to explore as much of my sexuality as humanly possible. Maybe it was greed, maybe it was lust, desire, curiosity, unresolved mother issues or all of the above, but for me the time had come to cross another boundary.

At 27 years of age I was still young. I feel prettier now than I did back then, but my reasoning at the time was that my beauty had already peaked. If I wanted to explore my own sexuality, the time was now, or so I figured.

So I auditioned for gay porn.

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Like many gay guys, I enjoy watching gay porn from time to time. As such, I’ve come to appreciate the efforts of gay porn stars, exposing their own sexuality for the world to see and admire. I reasoned that doing gay porn would be a nice way to ‘give’ something to the gay community, while at the same time using my own sexuality as an instrument of sorts. I enjoyed the thought of being in control of my sexuality.

For years at an end, my sexuality had been tied down, suppressed by a heterosexual dream I had chased for way too long. Now that I had finally and definitively shed myself of all the restraints I came to know and hate over the years I was ready to live.

To live.

So I auditioned for gay porn.

How does one audition for gay porn?

Well, one goes on Craigslist.

The rest pretty much came naturally. I responded to an ad asking for gay porn models by emailing a few selfies. I then received a phone call from someone asking me if I was absolutely sure I wanted my naked self on the internet for the entire duration of human civilization. After agreeing to that term I was invited to audition.

Technically speaking, Guy #23 and I never had sex. He never even touched me, not in a sexual way at least. Guy #23 was a producer and director of gay porn videos. I first met him in his apartment, where I had come to audition.

So how does one actually audition for gay porn?

Well, one unzips his pants and shows a porn producer one can obtain and maintain an erection in the absence of any sexual arousal.

I passed the test.

In fact, I passed all three tests. Guy #23 explained to me porn is about three things: Personality, looks and dick size. He mentioned them in that order, and rightfully so I might add.

During my audition, a friend and colleague of Guy #23 dropped by for a visit. I believe I wasn’t wearing everything when he came in. He modestly complimented what he was seeing and introduced himself as casually as if we had met on a company picnic. He would later tell me he spent his free time counseling people with HIV. It made me feel good I was going to do porn with people that were anything but heartless.

Guy #23 and I would become friends. He introduced me to stuff gays can do in big cities. I had never heard of the concept of a gay sauna until Guy #23 took me there one evening. And while Guy #23 and I never did anything sexual together, he was there during some of my most intimate moments. I had definitely crossed a boundary with him, but mostly it was nice having a chubby bearded French Canadian as a friend.

I once asked him if he liked his job. He had made hundreds of videos before me. I wondered how something like that would affect my own sex life. I always intended for porn to be a part of my sex life, not a part of my resume.
“I get jaded sometimes,” Guy #23 said.

I’d like to think he wasn’t jaded when he was working with me.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 3 months
FORMAT: Professional friendship
SEX SCORE: N/A

Guy #22 – My looks matter too…

 

 


 

 

It can’t be denied some of the guys you find on Craigslist are hot.

Guy #22 was one of those guys.

In fact, he was the hottest guy I had ever been with up till then. And I was already at a point where that meant something.

At first I considered myself lucky. What could possibly go wrong in the presence of sheer beauty?

Well, for starters it didn’t take me long to realize Guy #22 was hotter than I was. I couldn’t help but feel sorry he had to settle for me. I felt unworthy of the sex he agreed upon.

The sex was actually modestly spectacular, for me at least. I’m not sure if Guy #22 was having any fun. I don’t think he enjoyed me as much as I him.

As we were busy performing numerous pleasures on each other’s bodies I found myself constantly in awe of the body I was performing them on. I felt sorry for my own body in return. Guy #22 must have felt my inferiority. Even if he did find me attractive, my own shame must have masked most of what I had to offer.

We followed up the sex with a shower. Again, I was uncomfortable rubbing soap on something I considered too good to be mine. I literally didn’t know how to rub things the right way.

A few days after our 45 minute encounter I talked to Guy #22 on MSN, which people still used back then. I asked if he wanted us to meet up a second time.
‘Not really,’ he said. I was flattered by his honesty, but disappointed at the same time. I wondered if I would ever get another chance to be wanted by so much beauty again. Then again, I was never that wanted. I was granted, at best.

People with good therapists tend to believe looks don’t matter. I have a MSc. in Psychology and I think looks do matter. So either I’m a lousy therapist or looks are an important part of who we become in life. That’s not an ideology. It’s an observation.

Yet I also observed how looks are fluid, how they are mostly an extension of how you feel about yourself. I believe everybody looks as attractive as they feel.

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Had I felt more attractive in the presence of Guy #22, he might have wanted me a second time. Still, him granting me access to his beauty made me feel more beautiful. I know, our personalities hardly played a role. At the time I was still caught up in discovering my own personality and lacked the mental capacity to really dive into the minds of people I met through Craigslist.

Had I met Guy #22 today I probably would have tried to get to know him. I would have allowed him to know me. And then the sex might have been really spectacular, and plentiful.
We could have granted each other much more than we did.

I wasted Guy #22 and quite a few hotties after him, simply by referring to them as hotties. Whenever I consider a guy a hottie it’s an expression of insecurities about my own looks. Those insecurities prevented a lot of pleasant sex from becoming phenomenal sex.

Whenever I think back about guys like Guy #22, I often wish I could see them again. I would love to have a conversation with Guy #22, find out what makes him tick.

Then again, his Craigslist ad at the time specifically stated he was an ‘athletic top in search of NSA fun’. He never wanted our relationship to last more than an hour.

Guys often make it difficult to find love in each other.
We’re like people that way.

 


 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 45 minutes
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE: (0 = Having ‘the Talk’ with your parents <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 8.2

Guy #21 – Looks matter…

 

 


 

 

There’s a big difference between a body and a face.

A body can be shaped. A human being can survive on blueberries, bananas, rice and oatmeal. Really, if you don’t mind bidding farewell to pasta and cramming out a hundred sit-ups every day, getting a nice body isn’t that big of an achievement.

A face however is pretty static. No amount of gym hours can change the way you look with your clothes on.

Of course, impulsive little me found that out the hard way.

You can guess where this is going.

Guy #21 had a gorgeous body. By the looks of his abs pasta was poison to him. I would have been attracted to him, were it not for the fact that his face appeared to have been drawn by Picasso.

Our paths had crossed on Craigslist, where his faceless body pic was somehow hot enough to make me want to see him. Heaven knows what the hell I was thinking.

I felt sorry for Guy #21. I’d like to believe we live in a world where everybody is equally beautiful on the outside, but the sad reality is that some people are objectively unattractive. Guy #21 probably read the disappointment in my eyes when we first met. I’m sure it was a look he had seen on other faces, perhaps even his own every time he passed a mirror.

Having been a virgin for the first 24 years of my life, I know what it’s like to go through life feeling ugly. For a long time I probably was unattractive. That’s the kind of energy I radiated. It’s the kind of energy Guy #21 radiated.

I had sex with him out of empathy.
It wasn’t great.

Yet it wasn’t awful either. And not just because of his abs. Guy #21 had a warm and loving personality, especially by Craigslist standards. And even though Craigslist was swarming with guys looking for quick fixes, it was obvious Guy #21 was looking for a connection, a bond with someone, something meaningful, however superficial.

Actually, over the years I’ve come to experience there’s no such thing as superficial sex. I just wasn’t aware of that during my date with Guy #21. Had I known Craigslist cashes in on our desire to be loved, I might have summoned up the honesty to tell him he wasn’t my type. I might have told him he should work on believing in his beauty instead of doing sit-ups to increase his sense of self worth.

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A face may be static, but a brain isn’t. It took me 168 guys to appreciate how much my brain determines the way I look, 168 and counting.

I hope Guy #21 grew up to be as attractive as I am now.

 

 


 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: Two hours
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE: (0 = “I did not hit her. It’s not true. It’s bullshit. I did not hit her. I did not. Oh, hi Mark.” <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6

Guy #20 – Going supernova…

 

 


 

 

Guy #20 marked the first time I ever had sex in Canada. Toronto, to be precise.

All of my previous sexual experiences had taken place either in the closet or in a small country with only one gay club. Now I had arrived in a city big enough to have its very own gay village.

I spent the summer of 2009 in and around Downtown T.O., enjoying the thought of constantly being surrounded by millions, many of whom were gay guys.

It was a time of many firsts. Sexually speaking, I went supernova that summer.

For starters, the summer of 2009 introduced me to the world of Craigslist, where gay men gathered before the rise of Grindr:

“NSA blow”
“Looking for chubby bottoms”
“Reward for your dirt”
“Fun in your hotel room”
“Dad, I need a punishment”
Those were the kind of advertisements I shifted through in search of my Guy #20, who I first came to know as “Athletic Hot Bi Guy”.

Athletic Hot Bi Guy and I got in touch through Craigslist. We exchanged a few pictures, decided we were both doable and then set up a date at his place, a beautiful penthouse in Downtown Toronto overlooking the city skyline. The scenery might actually have been prettier than Guy #20 himself.

My first ever Craigslist date went like clockwork up until the moment I suddenly had to puke. And again. And again. And then once more. And a few more times after that. I lost count eventually.

I had never heard of roofies, or that people sometimes put roofies in other people’s drinks. I do remember thinking my wine had tasted funny that night.

It wasn’t until years after my date with Guy #20 that I finally realized he had pimped up my drink. At the time I figured I had drunk too much, even though one glass of alcohol had never made me sick before.

Apart from feeling unbelievably dizzy, weak and sick, I was very much ashamed of myself. No one likes to puke on a sex date. I was so busy being ashamed of constantly hovering my head above a toilet, I neglected to fully realize how calmly Guy #20 was taking all of it. He didn’t comfort me, nor did he get in any way upset or worried. He just kept sitting on his bed, athletic and hot, waiting for me to feel better.

Of course Guy #20 knew exactly what was going on. He was probably counting himself lucky I didn’t realize I had been such a good bottom because of a roofie.

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Naturally, I wish it upon Guy #20 to end up in the Emergency Room with a vacuum cleaner stuck to his parts. The sad thing is he never even needed drugs to get me. Athletic Hot Bi Guy summed him up nicely. He was athletic and hot. That’s usually enough to get me high.

To my surprise, Guy #20 later contacted me to invite me a second time. At the time it highly surprised me all my puking hadn’t been a turn-off, but I guess in his mind it was a fair price for such a good bottom.
I however didn’t feel like being reminded of my shame, so I kindly ignored Guy #20’s invitation.

So, my first sexual experience in a big city ended in a modest drug overdose. Yet at the time I wasn’t aware of that. What impressed me most was how unworldly easy it was to obtain sex in a populated area. To me, Guy #20 marked the beginning of a new era: I had definitively left behind this shy, insecure and dorky figure who couldn’t get a girlfriend. That had been me, barely two years before.

After spending the night at Guy #20’s house, recuperating from what I still thought was bad alcohol, I walked down the streets of Toronto, feeling content and satisfied.

I knew I had a busy summer ahead of me.

 


 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: One night
FORMAT: Sex date
SEX SCORE (0 = Windows Vista <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 6.5

 

Guy #19 – The quickest of quickies…

 

 


 

 

If a guy grabs you by the balls while you’re peeing into a urinal and you let him, does that count as sex?

I guess technically it could count as the quickest of quickies, clocking in at 5.4 seconds of absolute foreplay.

Even in a filthy public washroom Guy #19 was hot. It was never a question of whether or not I would let him grab my balls. The question was whether or not I would hold up my pee for him. The thing is, I had already started peeing by the time Guy #19 arrived at the scene. My mind was puzzled: Would it be rude to continue peeing? Would it be awkward if I suddenly stopped? And if I stopped, how long was I supposed to wait until I could let the remainder flow? Was I willing to exert that much power over someone I didn’t know? Did I want this guy to think he can make me pee whenever it pleases him? Should I tell him I’m nowhere near that submissive? What would be a good time to tell him? Should I be peeing when I tell him, or should I hold it up, tell him, and then continue peeing?

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I don’t really remember what the ball grabbing actually felt like. Guy #19 either enjoyed it or pretended to, as did I.

I do remember it stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Guy #19 retracted his hands, greeted me like a gentleman and walked away.

At the time I was absolutely confident that our washroom encounter was but a prelude of what was to come, but strangely enough I’ve never seen or heard from him since.

Maybe it’s because I didn’t hold up my pee for him.

Sorry.

 


 

 

Relationship summary:

LENGTH: 5.4 seconds
FORMAT: Hand-to-balls physical contact
SEX SCORE (0 = A hobbit Jehovah’s witness <–> 10 = The best sex ever): 4.5